E Pugna Griseo
by ReginaRex
Summary: AU. The Battle of Hogwarts resulted in neither side winning; the fight continuing for years. Resulting to desperate measures, Voldemort decides to send himself back to a time without Harry Potter - it was just Harry's luck to get pulled along for the ride, and to wake up as a member of the esteemed Black family.


**E Pugna Griseo**

**Summary:**_ AU. The Battle of Hogwarts resulted in neither side winning; the fight continuing for years. Resulting to desperate measures, Voldemort decides to send himself back to a time without Harry Potter - it was just Harry's luck to get pulled along for the ride, and to wake up as a member of the esteemed Black family._

**AN:**_ hi, welcome to this book and I hope you will enjoy it :), I obviously can't fit everything in the summary so here's a little extra info: the Battle of Hogwarts resulted in no victor as Voldemort and his forces fled straight after Harry 'woke up', therefore Nagini is still alive; yes, there will be a pairing (I'm currently deciding between two prospective people) but the major story line as that will be a lot of political stuff and the fight against Voldie dearest; and there will be some minor bashing but nothing too major, manipulative!Dumbledore but not evil. _

_Also, E Pugna Griseo literally means The Grey Battle in Latin – I thought it was fitting. And __**M **__for __**dark**__ themes, he's a member of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black after all ;)_

_I will be going by the fact that to be a Pureblood you have to have __**no**__ muggle, muggleborn or __**squib**__ grandparents. _

**Chapter 1 – of Rituals and Dark Lords**

**2****nd**** July 2002**

Despite being drenched in blood, the crimson liquid dripping down his face like sweat and staining the stone floor beneath, Harry James Potter forced himself to stand; his target but metres away from where he stood. He could end this, he could kill the Dark Lord who had near annihilated the entirety Magical World.

The Order was gone, the Ministry had fallen, after that it had been all too easy for the Dark Lord to swoop in and maintain control over Wizarding Britain. Other countries had tried to prevent his arrival, but it had been in vain – he had taken America and the rest of Europe within the following two years, and worked his way on from there in the following years.

After the death of those he was fighting for, the Potter boy had been fuelled only be his thirst for vengeance – his desperation to kill the maniac that had ruined his life, and then the Magical World. For his parents, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Andromeda, Ted, little Teddy, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, the rest of the Weasleys, Dumbledore, McGonagall… Harry had long since stopped counting how many people he had lost in this war.

Well, he supposed that it was a massacre rather than a war not, Voldemort had little to no resistance; there was only death.

As he trudged on, he found himself unable to locate the Dark Lord. Despairingly, he looked around, hoping that the man had not been able to evade him once more. The sound of Tom Marvolo Riddle's voice brought a degree of relief to him, as Harry still had his chance at killing him.

However, when he truly did turn to him, he felt fear instead, cold fear which he had forgotten over the recent years of constant adrenaline and thirst for vengeance. With a dangerous tilt to his voice, Harry questioned, "what are you doing, Tom?"

The Dark Lord did not offer him an answer, simply finished lighting the last candle. The man – if he could even be called that anymore – stood within a circle of candles and runes (some of which he had learnt from self-studying over the years, but most he did not) with a smile upon his face that meant nothing good for Harry.

"You've heard about the Veil, surely Potter?" Voldemort mocked, his scarlet eyes glinting with glee, looking alike to the blood that marred Harry Potter's hands, "your mutt of a godfather used it after all," fists clenched at Harry's sides, "but didn't you ever wonder, _boy_, what it led to? What it was hiding? Where the whispers come from?"

"They are the whispers of the dead," Harry said surely.

"No, _boy_," Voldemort said with a sneer, clearly enjoying explaining his diabolical plan to his nemesis, "they are the whispers from those not of our world – the past, and the future. You go through, you travel to what is essentially another world as your very existence alters the reality. You can only control it through a specific ritual: my ritual."

It was with a dawning horror that Harry realised what Voldemort was about to do; he was about to send himself to another world. Voldemort had not achieved his goals in this world after all; he had wanted world domination and he had only managed to destroy it.

Desperately, Harry began running towards Voldemort at a speed he didn't know he possessed. Though clearly taken aback, Voldemort took a step backwards through the Veil, but not before Harry managed to grasp onto a portion of his black cloak.

As they tumbled through, it was like a freefall. Voldemort harshly pried Harry's unrelenting grip from him, before ragefully pushing the other male as far away from him as possible.

Soon, Voldemort had disappeared from Harry's sight no matter what direction Harry looked in, and soon all he knew was the darkness that clouded his vision.

**-HP-HP-**

"Mr. Black, Headmaster Dippet will see you now. Mr. Black? Mr. Black?"

Harry came to consciousness due to incessant shaking. Carefully, he pried open his eyes, an unamused grey-haired witch staring down upon him through square spectacles, hands upon her hips.

Blinking confusedly, the older woman let out a huff, "hurry up, the Headmaster Dippet will see you now. How did you except to make a good impression half-asleep, Mr. Black? Though I do suppose he always favoured you Slytherins. Unfair I say."

"I'm sorry," Harry said in utter bewilderment, this woman seemed to be under the impression that his last name was 'Black', and that he was here to see some 'Headmaster', "who are you, and where am I?"

The elderly witch positively glowered at him for this, "insolent boy! Clearly you're drunk as well as tired, and yet you have the nerve to come to a school as prestigious as Hogwarts for a teaching job? How repulsive! Now follow me."

Instantly, Harry decided that he highly disliked the snappy and rather arrogant woman, feeling a strong urge to hex her. Deciding it would be best for him to simply go along with whatever game was being played for now, he followed her through the familiar halls of Hogwarts, amazed and bewildered to see the castle standing. How was that possible? It had been demolished in 1998.

He stopped short when the realisation hit him, of what had happened just before he lost his consciousness. Voldemort had clearly succeeded in his time travelling, and Harry was somewhere in the past.

What had that woman said? Headmaster Dippet! He had been the Headmaster during Voldemort's time as a student. He had heard Hermione babbling on about _Hogwarts, a History_ enough to know that Dippet had been the Headmaster before Dumbledore, having had a tenure of almost thirty years and had been sorted into Ravenclaw during his time at Hogwarts.

The woman, who Harry would guess was perhaps the Deputy Headmistress, finally arrived at the gargoyle, stating the password: "lost diadem," to the statue, prompting it to move away and allow her to lead herself and Harry up the stair case.

The Headmaster's office, Harry found, after the woman led him in, was a lot cleaner than it would be under Dumbledore. No trinkets. No fanciful colours. Many, many more books though, and a sprinkling of dark blue around the room. In the centre sat Headmaster Dippet, a man who Harry knew was nearly three hundred years old at this point in time, and it wasn't too hard to believe it with his few wisps of white hair and feeble-looking stature.

To Harry's surprise, the old man smiled at him, "it's good to see you, Cepheus," for a moment, Harry didn't even realise that the frail man was talking to him, "I was so glad to hear that you had taken my advice and decided to try out for the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. That will be all, Professor Smith."

The old woman nodded, sniffing haughtily before heading out of the room. Ancestor of Zacharias Smith, perhaps, Harry found himself unsurprised.

"Have a seat, Cepheus," Harry hid his grimace at what was clearly his new name in whatever type of world this is, sitting down dutifully in front of the aged man.

"Now, as your former Head Master I know how skilled you are at Defence, Cepheus, the most competent young man of your age I would say," the Headmaster told him with a small chuckle, "but you only _just _graduated Hogwarts, and while you had admittedly fantastic results, are you sure you wish to shoulder the responsibility of being a teacher so soon?"

Harry's mind began to whirl. He could walk out now, claim this was all a mistake, but what good would that do him? He would be an unemployed, penniless man in the past with no way to work against Voldemort, whom Harry was unaware as to whether or not he was in this world or had been sucked to another. In Hogwarts, however, he could influence the future Death Eaters, perhaps implore them to stop.

Recklessly, not truly knowing what he was getting himself into, Harry said in as confident a voice as he could, "I am sure, Headmaster."

"Well," the ancient man said with a grin, "I do not need a representation of your skill, for I already know of it. You will begin teaching in September. I daresay that you will be the youngest Hogwarts teacher that I've ever heard of, and I've been alive for nearly three centuries!"

The man chuckled, and Harry unsurely, and rather awkwardly, joined in.

"As we will be co-workers now, you may call me Armando."

"Thank you, Armando," Harry thanked, offering the man a hesitant smile, "I will not let you down."

After bidding each other a farewell, Harry left the office, receiving a glare from Professor Smith. First, he would head to Gringotts in hope that something may have been left for him there, and would need to find out exactly _when_ he was.

Once outside the Hogwarts grounds, Harry Potter swiftly apparated away, never noticing the quizzical blue eyes that watched his every movement, twinkling thoughfully.

**-HP-HP-**

Diagon Alley was still standing in this time as well, and, to Harry's relief, much the same as it had been in the '90s, with only a few small changes such as additionally supply and junk shops as well as a few more wand shops.

However, the new shops and the factor that 'Quality Quidditch Supplies' was called 'Quidditch at its Finest' in this time was not him primary concern. His eyes lay only on the bank coming up ahead.

He supposed that normally blood tests would be taken at St. Mungo's, but Harry did not exactly want other witches and wizards to get out that this Cepheus Black character had no idea who he actually was. Harry figured that the goblins had to have _some_ sort of identification, else how could they tell whether or not a person who hadn't got their key, or a wand, was who they claimed to be?

Heading into the bank, nobody paid him any attention. Harry was glad, even if it did feel a little bit strange to have nobody pointing and whispering about his scar – a scar which had not faded, despite the soul piece allegedly being destroyed.

Upon arrival at the front desk, Harry hesitantly cleared his throat, observing as the goblin's focus turned to him. The creature stared at him as haughtily as Professor Smith had, and said in a drawl similar to Snape's, "yes?"

"I would like to know if you do a blood test," Harry stated, trying to seem as confident as he could in front of the goblin, "I need to know if I have a claim to any vaults."

"It's called an Inheritance Test," the goblin corrected harshly, before yelling over another of its kind, telling the fellow goblin to lead Harry to the inheritance rooms which he (he? Harry wasn't entirely sure how to tell the gender of a goblin, but it seemed like a he) did so.

Instructed to slide an '7' shape in his palm and then press it to the piece of paper, Harry did so, and let his blood fill the piece of paper. Before the minute was up, he was able to read the writing upon it as the goblin smirking informed him that it would be four galleons for their services.

_Name: Cepheus Phineas Black_

_Date of Birth: 31__st__ December 1925 (is currently eighteen years of age)_

_Place of Residence: Number 23 Septima Avenue_

_Parents: Antares Arcturus Black (pureblood) and Maia Selene Gaunt (pureblood)_

_Grandparents: Phineas Icarus Black (pureblood) and Acilia Tionna Malfoy (squib)_

_Great-Grandparents: Phineas Nigellus Black (pureblood) and Ursula Vega Flint (pureblood)_

_Blood Status: Half-Blood (due to squib grandmother)_

_Vaults: Phineas-Acilia Vault, Antares-Maia Vault, Cepheus Vault, the Gaunt Vault_

_Titles: Lord Gaunt (maternal). Previously had the right to be Lord Slytherin, but the title now belongs to Tom Marvolo Riddle (cousin to Lord Gaunt) by right of conquest as he killed Lord Gaunt._

Folding it up, Harry pushed the parchment into his pocket. To think that the proud Malfoy clan had produced a squib, and that Phineas Black II – whom Harry remembered Sirius had told him had been disowned for supporting Muggle rights – had married her! Also, he was now his godfather's second cousin or something of the likes… That was slightly strange.

The part that he was most disturbed by was that he was now Voldemort's cousin. He grimaced at the thought of being related to such the Dark Moron.

"Do you know how much is in my vaults?" Harry inquired, the goblin took the piece of paper from him, eyebrows raising high at what Harry guessed was the 'he (Tom) killed Lord Gaunt' bit before speaking in a language completely foreign to Harry. Moments later another voice replied.

"Your parents and your grandparents vault have 43 galleons, 10 sickles and 2 knuts within. They had all been paranoid and kept their money hidden around their house, a right lot of good that did them when their house was raided after your father's suicide," the goblin grinned, clearly believing that they had gotten what they deserved for not trusting their money with the bank, causing Harry's fists to clench at his sides, despite never having known them, "while the Gaunt vault only has two sickles and a knut."

Harry nodded, having expected that of the Gaunt Vault, having already heard about how they spent more than they had, despite having once been a very rich family.

"Could you have my… parents and grandparents money transferred into the Gaunt vault please," Harry requested, "and do you have a floo that I could use to get to my residence?"

"Of course," the goblin said, motioning to the fire place, "we will send you further bank statements soon, Lord Gaunt." 

Harry nodded, before calling out into the flames (and desperately hoping he hadn't said the wrong number), "number twenty three, Septima Avenue."

And the Boy-Who-Lived was gone in a flash.

**-HP-HP-**

When Harry James Potter – or Cepheus Phineas Black as he was otherwise known – stepped out of the fire place of number twenty three, Septima Avenue, he was faced with a moderately sized, comfortable looking living room. The walls were cream and the room was open and light, however the not so subtle silver and some emerald décor told him all he needed to know – Cepheus Black had been a Slytherin.

A closer observance of Cepheus' furniture told Harry that he had a taste for the finer things in life, despite not having much money to his name. Moving into the narrow hallway, he entered a small dining room, large enough to have a rectangle table with six chairs around it but not big enough to have much space manoeuvre around. Again, it all reflected Cepheus' rich taste.

Before a staircase was a final door, which Harry entered to find a reasonably sized office room, more deprived of natural light than the lounge, instead being dark and decked in green and silver.

Harry jumped rather dramatically when he heard a voice sound from behind him, "ah, here comes the traveller."

Whirling around, wand pointed in front of him, he came face to face with a portrait. The man within it was a remarkably handsome man, with hair of the blackest shade and eerie purple eyes that seemed to penetrate Harry's soul. The man must have been not yet forty when the portrait was painted, perhaps mid-thirties. The portrait observed him for a moment before smiling amusedly, "you look like me."

"Pardon?" Harry said, mind reeling, "what do you mean _traveller_?" The boy said, brows scrunched up and a slightly panicked expression adorning his face. Did he know?

"By traveller, I mean that little journey you went through recently to _my _time," the man said, as if he were talking to an idiot, "I may be a portrait, but I'm not stupid. Suddenly, I'm being assaulted by memories that my son – who died at three years – actually lived and married one of Grindelwald's most avid supporters and had a son, before she died and then he committed suicide after her death. That never happened, and yet here you are."

Harry stared at the man, appraising him for a moment before inquiring, "you are meant to be my grandfather, aren't you? Phineas Black II who was disowned for supporting muggle rights?"

"And for marrying a squib," chimed in another voice, and Harry turned to see a beautiful woman, perhaps a few younger than Phineas' portrait, with silver-blonde hair in a tight bun and icy blue eyes with hidden mirth within them. With her sharp features, Harry probably would have believed her if she had told him that she was the female version of Draco Malfoy, but he knew that she was not.

"Yes," Phineas admitted, with a small smile, "and that. Regretted it for the rest of my life."

"Oi!" The other portrait huffed in response to the teasing.

"Now," the woman – Acilia Malfoy, he supposed – said, "who were you, young man, before you became my mystical grandson?"

"Harry Potter," Harry responded, seeing no benefit in hiding it from the portraits, after all, it wasn't as if they could jump out and inform the world that Cepheus Black actually didn't exist. Especially as Cepheus Black clearly did exist, his Gringotts test had told him as much – Harry Potter no longer exists, he _is_ Cepheus Black, "I'm from 2002 when a Dark Lord, who goes by the name of Lord Voldemort, completely destroys not just Britain but the entirety of the Wizarding World. I need to stop him, or millions, and perhaps even more than that, will die and magic will cease to exist."

Perhaps he was exaggerating a little on the 'magic will cease to exist' part, that probably wouldn't happen until 2102 or something, but it certainly caught their attention.

"Cease to exist, you say?" Phineas exclaimed in horror, "Magical Britain destroyed? Tell me, who is this 'Dark Lord'?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle; I believe he is my cousin in this time, Maia's nephew," Harry explained, watching as the two listened with avid interest, "look, I don't know what's happening or who I am or how to act. Last thing I knew, I was drenched in blood and trying to fight a Dark Wizard, now I'm apparently called Cepheus Black, am in 1944 and apparently being the next Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor!"

"Well," Phineas said seriously, "if you want to pass as a Black then you might want to bottle up that temper of yours, it will do you no good; wearing your heart on your sleeve won't catch you a Dark Lord. And certainly don't slouch. Did nobody teach you etiquette, Cepheus?"

"My name is Harry," Harry objected.

"Not anymore it isn't," Acilia Malfoy told him, her soft voice juxtaposing her harsh features, "and it will do you good to remember so. Now, you are our grandson – and we _will_ help you defeat the Dark Lord. Portrait or not."

"Now, as this is our house, I know we kept a pensieve in the second bedroom after… After _our_ Antares' death. As your father lived this time around, I suppose the bedroom will have stuff in it as well, but the pensieve should still be there. I always remind those I know that keeping your memories stored is a brilliant thing to do – after all, you never know when you might need them – so if this grandson of mine had any of the Black paranoia then he should have kept some of his memories. Go and check, and then return and we shall teach _you _some etiquette young man," Phineas told him.

Obediently, Harry headed up the stairs, wondering with mild anticipation and an eagerness to have Voldemort gone at last, what his life as Cepheus would hold.

**-HP—HP-**

Unsurprisingly, Phineas was correct – the Blacks truly were paranoid creatures. There must have been over three hundred memories stored one on top of the others, thank fully only around twenty-five were marked _CPB_, whereas a good half of them were either _AAB _or _MMG_ who he assumed was his parents (Antares and Maia) and the rest were _PIB_ and _ALM_, his grandparents'.

Taking out the first of the _CPB_ vials, Harry watched as the liquid floated down, before sticking his head into the memory.

_A boy with the darkest hair Harry had ever seen and startling violet eyes walked along the corridors of Hogwarts with his head down, as if willing the floor to swallow him up whole. The boy was freakishly angelic, more beautiful than handsome, but Harry supposed that every member of the Black family he'd met had been blessed in looks._

_Two boys came around the corner, one held hair similar to the boy's own but dark grey eyes and another had short blonde hair and baby blue eyes. When they saw the violet eyed boy they stopped, and what Harry could only describe as predatory looks came across their faces, "well, well, well," the darker haired boy of the duo spoke, "if it isn't Cousin Cepheus? How's mummy and daddy, Cepheus? Your mother must be rolling in her grave right now to have a disgrace like you. Your father was only a half-blood, irrelevant if you ask me."  
_

_Harry watched on, feeling anger on behalf of the young boy whose fists clenched at his sides and tears pricked in his eyes. _

"_Who are you, ickle Cephie, to ignore a prestiged member of the House of Black – a Pureblood, whereas you're merely half-blood scum!"_

_The boy moved near impossibly fast, and Harry supposed that his wand had to have been hidden within a holster on his arm, "shut your trap, Cousin Regulus," Harry noted how despite Cepheus being maybe only a second year, he seemed to successfully shut the seventh years up, "before I make you."_

_It was then that the two boys merely began to laugh, their formerly intimidated expressions fading into one's of humour, "and what are you going to do, Cousin? A third year against two seventh years? You're a fool on a suicide mission, that's what!"_

_Huh. So a third year, not a second year, Harry thought. It was the first time in his life that he looked tall for his age – and Harry didn't even truly recognise the boy as himself._

"_Serecteonem,"_ _Cepheus swiftly casted, and it took Harry a moment to realise that the boy in the memory – him – had casted a spell that was of his own creation. With a dawning horror, Harry realised that this meant he would somehow have to learn how to cast and create spells of his own to keep up the image of his new identity._

_Brilliant; not._

_The two boys withered and struggled as they were tied up against the wall by snakes so tightly that their faces were going blue. It was then that Harry also realised that Cepheus had spoke in Parseltongue – at least he wouldn't have to hide that from everyone._

_It was slightly unnerving to Harry, the way that Cepheus was grinning madly at the two boys that were so clearly choking to death. Mentally, he reminded himself that the Black family had always been twisted – Sirius himself had told Harry that he himself was admittedly as twisted as the rest of them. Harry had gagged when Sirius had once confided that he had held an unrequited love for Bellatrix up until he was locked away in Azkaban._

_Ugh._

"_Twenty points from Slytherin, and detention" Harry heard behind him, and whirled around to find a rather beautiful blonde stalking towards them at the same time memory Cepheus did, cloak billowing and with a look on her face that made Harry shudder. The wild curls, the smirk and the slightly crazed look. He had seen it all before, on the terrifying witch that was Bellatrix LeStrange, "all of you."_

_The girl ordered Cepheus to let the duo down, proudly proclaiming about how her Prefect badge gave her the right to make such a demand when Cepheus tried to challenge her._

"_Druella," the other boy – Regulus Black I – said, looking at her up and down rather appreciatively, "surely you don't mean __**us **__to. It was all the little twerp. Come on, Rosier, you're betrothed to my cousin – surely you can let it pass."_

_The girl's lips pursed for a moment, pretending to be in thought as she watched Regulus Black and the blonde boy's hopeful expressions, before stating with a smirk, "no, now scram."_

_Cepheus huffed, offering the blonde a scowl before storming past. Harry noted that the thirteen year old boy did not walk to the dungeons, despite his Slytherin colours, but instead elsewhere. Had they kicked the boy out of the dormitories, Harry wondered, just for being a half-blood?_

Suddenly, Harry was pulled from the memory, jolting to a start in the second bedroom which, true to Phineas' suspicions, _did_ have a bed and décor in it that would have likely belonged to Antares.

Still slightly surprised about the appearance of Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa's mother, the nature of the first Regulus Black in contrast to the great-nephew who was named after him, and by the way Cepheus was treated he sent himself into the next memory, trying to gather all the information he could.

From the first ten memories, Harry found out that Cepheus was a loner, the only boy he got along with was Alphard Black and he could only talk to him when the rest of his family was not around; he was always top of his class, except for in potions (at least Harry wouldn't have to fake being good at that); he took Ancient Runes and Artimancy (Harry was screwed, he only knew some runes and had never taken Artimancy); he slept in the Come and Go Room due to how he was treated by the fellow Slytherins; he disliked Regulus Black, Phillipe Rosier, Cygnus Black and Druella Rosier; he _slept_ with Druella twice while drunk (idly, Harry wondered how Sirius would of reacted if he knew Harry had had sex with his crazy Aunt, _twice_ – he probably just would have laughed at him) and used to have a secret relationship with Araminta Melifula Black (keeping it in the family, Harry thought with a grimace); his best subject had been Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration.

He also knew that Cepheus clearly was as twisted as the rest of the Blacks, taking great pleasure in hurting his enemies, and perhaps a little mad too. The boy was sharp and politically shrewd, though tended to keep most of his opinions to himself, sometimes telling Alphard when they were alone.

As a result of the memories, Harry began to jot down a list of people who were still at Hogwarts that he would need to watch out for as he continued to watch the memories of Cepheus Phineas Black:

_Regulus Black – will be in seventh year when I teach, avoid… though make sure to 'accidentally' send a nasty hex at him, the boy's an ass._

_Phillipe Rosier – will be in seventh year, avoid._

_Tom Marvolo Riddle – will be in seventh year… find a way to kill?_

_Orion Black and Charis Black – both extremely perceptive and intelligent, do not slip up in front of. Both in sixth year._

_Walburga Black – obvious reasons, the portrait does not lie._

_All the Potters, Weasleys, Longbottoms, etc – not the time for a family/freind reunion._

_Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore – most likely to figure out, stay __**away**__ from._

_Araminta Melifula Black – absolutely insane, a muggle hunter and I somehow dated her? __**AVOID**__._

_Abraxas Malfoy – __**AVOID**__because he's a Malfoy__ because he's a sneaky manipulative little bastard._

Luckily, Druella Rosier and Alphard Black were no longer attending Hogwarts, so Harry didn't have to worry about the grandmother of Draco Malfoy (Merlin's beard… he slept with Draco's grandma!) or the sort-of friend that Alphard Black seemed to be.

Deciding he would have to outline a strategy, Harry resigned himself to grab more paper and a quill and prepare to outline exactly _how_ he was going to bring down a teenage Dark Lord before he was actually Lord Voldemort. Or was he going by Voldemort already?

"Cepheus!" the voice of Phineas Black carried up the stairs, Harry jumped and spilt the ink on his plan (which only consisted of about four words and then a full stop, in all truth (_get horcruxes, kill Voldemort._)), "I thought you said you would come down so I could show you some proper etiquette – rule number one, never leave your elders waiting!"

Harry groaned, but was determined. If etiquette was what it took to save the lives of his friends and his family once more, then he would brave the damn thing.

Hell, if he had to create a whole new political faction and side of the war, take up the ghastly title of 'Lord Gaunt' and become a bloody ministry employee eventually then he would do it!

When Harry thought such a thing, he never realised that he would actually be doing exactly that.

**A/N: hope you enjoyed Chapter 1. I haven't got a Beta so sorry for any mistakes! If anyone would like to volunteer to be my Beta then feel free :). I've got MOCKs coming up and then my actual GCSEs, but I will try to update this book and my other book – Ashes of the Phoenix: Year 1 – whenever I can. Be sure to review and tell me what you think.**


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